The Awkward Life That Belongs To Me
by dandylyings
Summary: "I wish I had better friends. Friends that handled situations better. I wish I had a friend that wouldn't call me pathetic if they, hypothetically, caught me drooling over all of my crushes Facebook pictures in the comfort of my own home." A/U Brittana
1. Awkward Santana is Awkward

A/N: I've been reading this hilarious book that has my humor on over-drive. This is the baby of said humor. Please tell me what you think of it or how I can improve it.

* * *

Chapter One:  
**Awkward Santana is Awkward**

I wish I had better friends. Friends that handled situations better. I wish I had a friend that wouldn't call me pathetic if they, hypothetically, caught me drooling over all of my crushes Facebook pictures in the comfort of my own home. Said friend, instead of becoming a fucking douche, wouldn't make me, their friend, feel bad about my personal ways of using my imagination. This perfect-at-handling-hypothetical-situations friend would probably just leave me alone to my own devices after barging into my room. This friend would at least wait until I finished going through my crush's "Summer at the Beach" album before being an ass. But I do not have good situation-handling friends. No. I have Puck... And a non-hypothetical situation.

"Dude," Puck, my horrible-at-handling-shit friend, began, "you need to just give up on that dream of getting Brittany. I'm sure you've literally fucked up any chance you had with her after that shit you pulled last month."

Now, I know what you're probably thinking: Santana, what in the _world _could you have done to ruin chances with Brittany Peirce, the cutie with a booty? Well, please allow me to break down the events of what happened on that one fateful night. However, the only way for me to really capture how much _I fucking suck _is to write in the form of a script.

***All of my side comments shall be marked with an asterisk. **

**The Night I Accidentally Made Brittany Think I Had A Penis**

*_This is one of those screenplays where everything is answered in the title, but you still want to know what happened. Like, "The Social Network", or like "Not Another Teen Movie", or "Armaget-it-on"... Wait, what?_

(The setting of William McKinley High School, where Brittany Peirce is walking through the empty hallway towards the exit.)

(Enter Santana with a popsicle in her pants.)

*_Okay, I know what you guys might be thinking: Santana, why was there a popsicle in your pants? Well, I, my friend, have an answer for you: Puck. He dared me to let a popsicle melt in my pants that night. We were playing truth or dare in detention, (another thing Puck got me into), and he's had vengeance since the day I dared him to shave his head. I sort-of chickened out as soon as the popsicle was in my pants and decided that I should go to the bathroom and take it out... I know this whole story sounds suspicious - because it is - but please just let me finish the story before I punch myself in the eye from my stupidity._

(Santana runs into Brittany on the way to the bathroom)

BRITTANY: Ump!

SANTANA: Brittany!

BRITTANY: I'm sorry, I wasn't watching where I was goin -

SANTANA: No, no, I'm sorry.

*_You would think that would be the end of the conversation. That I would've just backed away from Brittany and dealt with what was in my pants; or at least tried to cover it up - but no. I do the dumbest thing imaginable. I turn my body directly towards Brittany and try to start a conversation. _

SANTANA: So.

BRITTANY: So...

SANTANA: You did good in the dance-thingy last night.

BRITTANY: *giggles her perfect giggle* Thank you, -

SANTANA: Santana. Lopez.

BRITTANY: *giggles again* Well, thank you, Miss Santana Lopez.

SANTANA: No, don't thank me for telling the truth. I mean, the way you moved out there... It was -*insert Santana getting lost in the perfection that is Brittany dancing*

*_Now you would think I would have felt that insanely cold popsicle on my crotch. However, in those forty-three seconds of talking to Brittany, I forgot that air was to breathe with. So I didn't notice when it started to melt._

SANTANA: *coughs once she realizes she never really said anything less gay in her life* It was amazing. You were amazing.

BRITTANY: *seemly distracted* Oh... Um, okay.

SANTANA: *senses her distraction* Are you okay?

BRITTANY: *starts staring at my crotch*

SANTANA: *starts staring at her breast*

BRITTANY: ...

SANTANA: ...

BRITTANY: You have a spot on your pants.

BRITTANY: You also have a bulge in your pants?

*_And this is when I almost died. _

SANTANA: Oh, I uh, I uh I - I - I was going to the bathroom to get rid of it.

BRITTANY:

SANTANA: Oh, not like that! I don't - I - God, it's not what you think it I-

BRITTANY: It's okay. I get it.

SANTANA: No, Brittany, I. No, what you're thinking is wro-

BRITTANY: No, Santana, I get it. And don't feel ashamed. You were born that way.

*_And with that, she walked away. And as the popsicle melted in my pants, I knew that I would never live past the age of 17. I was going to die of embarrassment. _

It's been a month since that fateful, tragic day - and everyday has been of constant torment from Puck. The fact that I, single-handedly, made my crush believe I had a penis is the perfect ammo for a shitty-friend like Puck.

"Dude, I repeat," Puck says while standing by my door, "you're fucking pathetic."

"Whatever," I huff after closing my computer. "Isn't there a party we're supposed to be going to?" I stand up from my seat, my regular party-wear clad to my body.

Puck eyes me up and down, "Bro," he says seriously, "where do you hide your penis?"

I punch him in the eye.

* * *

The party we're supposed to be going to is actually Rachel's - which means it's gonna suck duck balls. Rachel is one of those people who are loud and obnoxious even when they _aren't_ talking. Which made it to where everything about Rachel annoys me. I just seriously loathe her as a person. I can't even really explain why, either. She's just Rachel, which is actually a good enough excuse depending on who you're saying it to.

I walk into the party like normal: annoyed. And I'll tell you why: _fucking Puck_. The whole ride over he kept making jokes about any and everything. I wanted to punch him in both eyes by the time we got to Rachel's house. But I restrained from violence because he was my ride home, and Rachel lives out in the boondocks with the cows and shit. If I had on sneakers, I'd probably run home; however, these heels I'm wearing ain't nothing to fucks with. So I will just have to deal with my rage.

So here I am, in front of Rachel's big'ole house, ready to get my dranks on. As I walk through her door, I see _way_ more people than I ever thought was possible at a "Rachel party." There were actually popular people here. And when I say popular, I don't mean people who hang out with Puck and I. I mean people like_ Brittany_, and Mike, and Artie. And Brittany...  
_  
And Brittany_.


	2. Stupid Things I Do

Chapter Two:  
**The stupid things I do in the heat of the moment**

To say I was shocked by Brittany's appearance at Rachel's party is putting it lightly. However, I did not let her presence effect me one bit! Hence why I'm currently hiding in the bathroom.

And I know you're probably thinking two things right now: one being, "Wow, Santana, you constantly know what I'm thinking." Which is true. (Working as the only teacher's assistant of Sue Sylvester for the last three years has taught me a lot of things. Most of them revolve around torture-tactics from 1947, fortune telling, and delivering babies... That's actually whole 'nother story, though) And you're probably _also_ thinking, "Why are you in the bathroom when you could be clearing your penis'ed name?" Well, there's a slight problem with me getting out of the bathroom. I'm lost.

I've been trying to get out of this maze of a "restroom" (if that's its real name) for the last twelve minutes. I, idiotically, ran through Rachel's home like a horse with a hard-on (_I know_, it's a weird analogy, but just go with it. I couldn't think of anything else.) trying to get away from Brittany. I took, like, four turns and a back alley shortcut before I reached the bathroom. And when I say Rachel's living large - I mean it! Her downstairs bathroom, alone, is the size of my house. (Which is some _bull-shit _if you ask me.) And now I'm going through door after door trying to find my way back to the party. (I forgot which direction I came from) . I was just about to open another when -

"Rachel, what more do you want from me and my money? I let you borrow my house, for Christ sakes!" said a mystery, whiny voice.

Now, I'm not one to ease-drop, _but_ please believe my ear was now pressed to the door.

"Sugar, please try to comprehend my situation. My peers have never been so amiable towards me before, and I'm sure it has everything to do with your extravagant home. All I'm asking is for you to move through the vacant parts of the house like a clandestine ladybug - _at least_ until the night is through. We have to be safe with our plan. Then, after tonight, you will be listed the club roster and we could just progress from there. It'd be a pyrrhic win for us both!" States the annoying voice of Rachel.

And the whole time Rachel was answering the whiny voice with an unnecessary paragraph of sophisticated word vomit, I wondered how much reading she does. I mean, her vocabulary is just so well-off that it becomes annoying. We get it - you're smart. Shut the fuck up. I also thought about how Rachel was probably crazy, because the _only_ person i've every known who had "_big plans_" was a fucking nut-job. (You'll learn all about my friend, Quinn, a little later. Maybe when no one is thinking I have a penis.)

I was just moving my ear from the door when I notice a movement from across the room. Now, I'm not one to get scared (I mean, I from **Lima Heights**), _but_ please believe I screamed like a lil' bitch. And as soon as that scream happened, It triggered me to start thinking about what I've done to deserve a solitary death in a creepy bathroom. I also wondered why me and Puck split-up. We all know in scary movies the people who split up are the first to go. Then, I started to wish I was one of those super-kick-ass fighting people from the movies. Like if I was a special agent or something. But then, I thought about how I got my ass kicked in my last fight and how if I stormed outside trying to Chuck Norris Round Kick someone, I'd probably just end up getting punched in the face. And no one wants to be _that _guy who has to be examined for concussion after a fight. I was already finding a way to blame Puck for every hypothetical thing before Brittany emerged from behind the unnecessarily and oddly-placed couch, sheepishly.

*_The next few moments will be written in script from to, hopefully, ease the awkwardness that is Santana Lopez._

SANTANA: Oh, god, Brittany! You scared me.

BRITTANY: I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to ease-drop on you.

SANTANA: No, it's fine. Even though you scared me half to death, it's okay.

BRITTANY: *chuckles* Okay. Well, I wanted to talk to yo-

SANTANA: I mean, you could totally kill me if you wanted to.

SANTANA: I'd be totally down with that.

BRITTANY:

SANTANA: But only if you really wanted to.

BRITTANY: *completly and thankfully ignoring Santana's last three sentences* I wanted to talk to you, Santana.

SANTANA: Great, because I wanted to talk to you, too.

BRITTANY: About the other day when I found you pre-masturbation **-**

*_annnnndddd I make a mental note to kill myself later_

BRITTANY: **-** I was thinking about how cool you are. You, like, have a penis. _And_, you have great boobs. Who wouldn't want to be the best of both worlds?

SANTANA: *completely and stupidly ignoring most of what Brittany said* You think I have great boobs?

BRITTANY: *giggles that giggly giggle before trying to walk away*

SANTANA: Wait, Brittany.

BRITTANY:

SANTANA: I don't have a penis.

BRITTANY:

SANTANA:

BRITTANY: Santana, I already told you that I understand. You don't have to lie to me. If you have something extra, don't be embarrassed about it. I think you're beautiful regardless.

SANTANA: *completely and stupidly forgetting what she was trying to prove* You think I'm beautiful?

BRITTANY: *giggles* Yes. Now, please stop trying to convince me you're something you're not, okay?

SANTANA: *shakes her head negative very fast* No, wait!

SANTANA: I really don't have a penis, Brittany.

BRITTANY: I don't believe you.

SANTANA: *aggresivly* No, seriously, I don't have one.

BRITTANY: *dismissivly* Whatever you say, Santana.

*_And what I do next, my good friends, is going in the history books. I do what I'd only (wet)dreamed of doing. I pull down my skinny jeans in a frustrated, heated fashion and flash Brittany in a huge bathroom . For the next few moments, Brittany is just looking between my vagina and my eyes. After three minutes of silences and staring, I pull back up my pants._

BRITTANY: You aren't wearing any underwear.

*_Moments like these I wish I didn't use the theory of "one-two-skip-a-few" with wearing panties._

SANTANA: No... I'm not.

BRITTANY:

SANTANA:

BRITTANY:

SANTANA: But.. I think I proved my point of not having a penis.

BRITTANY: Yes, you did prove that you don't have a penis.

*_and what I do next, my good friends, is going down in the "why I will probably die alone" category._

SANTANA: Well, since I kind of flashed you ...

BRITTANY: Yeah?

SANTANA: Could I maybe... I don't know... Feel a boob?

_* I don't really know what happened after I said that, because I started to black-out from mentally killing myself; but I can confirm she did, in fact, punch me in the face._


	3. Intoxicated Santana is Intoxicated

Chapter Three:  
**Intoxicated Santana is way to intoxicated to be awkward**

You know what sucks?

School.

School sucks. It's the kind of "suck" that makes you wonder why you haven't dropped out yet. But my school experience doesn't suck for normal reasons - oh, no; my reasons are because school is _too_ good _all_the time. But I digress, let's talk about what happened after I was punched at the party last week...

*I would like to warn you, my fellow viewers, that I truly don't really _know_ what happened - for some moments of my memory have gotten fuzzy. (_I would also like to warn you that, at some moments, the continuity of this story is like the continuity of my original story-line... wait, what_?)

I _do_ remember, though, that after I tried to cop-a-feel on Brittany, I soon found myself on the floor of a grand bathroom holding onto a stuffed duck-pillow.  
Brittany had actually _punched_ me in my face - not a slap or a fake wrestler's "smack-down hit." I was _legitimately_ made her bitch. And as I was on that floor, holding a weird, fluffy pillow, I really didn't blame her. If a girl, who I thought had a penis moments prior to finding out she didn't, tried to feel me up, I'd probably Chris Brown her as-well. So, as she stormed off in the direction that I soon found out was the exit, I just cautiously followed her back to my liquor filled salvation.

The party was actually a good one, considering who was throwing it. And when I say it was a good party, I mean there was _lots_ of booze. Seriously, like rows and rows of them. I ended up drinking so much that I became Oprah and just started giving shit away. (You get a shoe, and you get a shoe! EVERYBODY GETS A SHOE!) By the time I realized I should probably stop drinking, I had given out half of my outfit and a lock of my hair. However, in all of my drunken glory, I managed to do the impossible: I got Brittany just as wasted.

For the record, that wasn't originally my intentional. I started bringing her apologies in the form of well-mixed drinks; however, I realized that the more shit-faced she became the more she could stand my face. And by my twelfth "I'm sorry," Brittany managed to both give me a hug and a lot of her clothes, too. And this, my friends, is when my story really becomes something interesting.

By the time I had her polka-dot bra, four-inch heels, and leg warmers in my possession, the Berry Boondocks Bash was over. But more importantly, her ride for the night, Artie, was gone. So when she noticed that she was alone, she found Puck, who oddly didn't drink, and asked for a ride home. (_That was one of the fuzzy parts_. I don't know how Puck ended up taking her home, actually. Mike, her ex-boyfriend, was still there and was pretty sober. But hell, I am not complaining.) Want to know another thing I'm not complaining for? Do ya? Do ya?

Well, it turns out Brittany lives literally a block away from me. I was actually not the one who figured that out, though. It was Puck. Turns out, as a shitty friend, it was his job to kick me out at Brittany's stop because (and I quote) "You can walk home 'cuz my gas is only paid in money and ass. And you aren't giving me either." It might seem a little extreme, him kicking me out – but I actually ended up punching him in the face for making fun of the black-eye that was forming on mine. (I know, I know – I always go to my angry place.)

(Also, now looking back, I notice a lot of people have been getting punched in the face.)

(I'm glad I'm not the only one filled with rage.)

As soon as I got out of Puck's car, I was slightly sobered up by the mere fact that drunk-ass-hell/happy-to-see-me Brittany didn't know I lived a walk away and asked me if I wanted to come inside when I walked her to her door. And when I say inside, I mean her house. Where she takes showers… probably naked. So I kinda lost my shit when she grabbed my hand and pulled me into her living room.

The only bad part is that drunk-ass-hell/happy-to-see-me Brittany was too under the influence to tell me that her bat-shit-crazy/ask-a-lot-of-questions mother was up waiting for her to return home. She also failed to give the message that her mother is a nudist.

So fast forward forty minutes and thirty-three questions later, I'm still surprised that I was still in Brittany's house. The crazy part was that I was enjoying myself! Brittany's mom might be bat shit crazy and super talkative, but she was such a weird, awkward combination that she made me feel really good about my life. Like, if this situation was a photograph of two girls: Brittany's mom would be the really ugly one making the sorta ugly one look really good. (But before anyone gets offended by that comparison, I want you all to remember that at the end of the day – both girls are still ugly.)

And for the first time in my seventeen years of existence, I was not the one to make the room silent by _my _awkwardness. It was _**all **_Brittany's mom. I'm not even going to into how she made the room more awkward than her being nude and long-winded; but, I can say it had to do with why she was named "Soft Finger Kitty" by Brittany's dad. So, with that being put out there – I'm not even going to break down how much I wanted to get out of that moment. And it would be selfish of you to force me to re-live it.

Moving on, fourteen minutes after Brittany's mom's (who's real name, by the way, is actually Latoya – I know, I know, no one see's that coming) revelation, to where I'm standing next to Brittany's open window as Brittany's on her bed, trying to find something to talk about. Mind you, I was still super fucking wasted. Brittany, on the other hand, was a lot better at holding her drinks and was only drunk for a few hours. I'm pretty sure I drank enough to get alcohol poisoning, so the task of trying to start a conversation with Brittany took a lot out of me. But here's goes the biggest plot twist you'll ever read – I actually had a **two **(count that shit, TWO) hour conversation with Brittany before things went bad. And not once was I strange or bizarre, I was actually quite charming.

**The awkward moment when Santana is cooler when she isn't being herself – but charming Santana can't stop gravity**

SANTANA: Do you know what I find myself thinking about often?

BRITTANY: No, tell me.

SANTANA: You.

BRITTANY: *giggles a slightly drunk giggle*

SANTANA: I'm serious. You just have a way of making any day better.

BRITTANY: Oh, really?

SANTANA: *nodding*

BRITTANY: *getting off of her bed* You know that we just met last month, right, Silly Goose?

*_This is when I became the super sexy, cute, ambitious girl I knew was deep down inside of me. I'm only telling you guys this because shit's about to get serious._

SANTANA: *chuckles* Just because you never knew my name doesn't mean I didn't know yours.

BRITTANY: Okay, Miss Santana Lopez. When did you first learn my name?

SANTANA: *chuckles confidently* Well, Miss Pierce, if I tell you – I'd have to-

BRITTANY: *laughs* Kill me?

*_This is my favorite part._

SANTANA: No… I'd have to kiss you.

BRITTANY:

SANTANA: So, if you really want to know *draws out the "oh"*, ask at your own risk.

BRITTANY: *stepping closer to Santana* Okay.

BRITTANY: *now slightly whispering* When.

BRITTANY: *takes step closer* Did.

BRITTANY: *takes step closer* You learn.

BRITTANY: *takes another step, now blocking Santana from the rest of the room* My name?

SANTANA: *still super drunk but calm and collected, surprisingly.* Well…

SANTANA: *whispering now as well* It was seventh grade, in Ms. Shirley's homeroom class.

BRITTANY: *nods her head while listening - looking into Santana's eyes*

SANTANA: You were the only one in leg warmers in the heat of August.

BRITTANY:

SANTANA: That's the day I learned your name…

BRITTANY:

SANTANA: It was such a beautiful name.

BRITTANY: *laughs quietly, tilting her head* Oh?

SANTANA: *nods while lifting her head an inch away from Brittany's* Just the way it rolls off my tongue makes me feel that much better.

BRITTANY: *looking at Santana's lips." Is that so?

SANTANA: *nods again while looking at Brittany's lips* Definitely… Who wouldn't want to say a name like yours -

BRITTANY: *about to kiss Santana*

SANTANA: *whispers* - Rumpelstiltskin.

*_Annnddd this is where I fuck up._

So, you might be thinking that the Rumpelstiltskin joke didn't go over well – but you're wrong. That joke made Brittany burst out laughing. But here goes the bullshit; her sudden laughter at that beautiful joke caused her to bump into me. Now you might be thinking: Santana how is _that_ a bad thing? Well, let me remind you that I was in front of Brittany's**open** window. And with Brittany being as wonderfully close as she was, that bump caused my drunk ass to tumble out that fucking window and drop two (count that shit, TWO) stories. But it's okay; my arm broke my fall… It also broke in general. So yes, that situation did escalated rather quickly.

So that was a week ago. And my broken arm and I have been through a lot in those seven days. For one thing, my mother has bitched me out non-stop. I think it had to do with the fact that I came home at five-o-clock in the morning with a broken arm and barely any clothes on – but that is completely irrelevant. The good part about breaking my arm is that it's technically Brittany's fault. Hence why she's been coming over my house every day after school. Brittany said she had a surprise for me today. You know, like something to make up for accidentally pushing me out the window. She said she worked really hard on making this surprise perfect because I didn't enjoy her last one. But seriously, how can I enjoy a dance recital at Brittany's house if her mother wants to dance, too? It's gross to see her naked mother do a split and… I just… I can't even. I'd seriously rather go to jail than see that again.

Oh, and speaking of school – let me tell you why it sucks. My school is actually decent, that's why! I got my cast on the night/morning I broke my arm, so why is my school giving me a week off to recuperate?. They _knowingly_ gave me a week off to do absolutely nothing. My school is so sickening perfect I don't know what to do with myself. But it's almost four, which means Brittany will be at my house any moment now, so I guess I can stop complaining for a moment.


	4. Bean Burritos and Elevators and Stuff

Chapter Four:  
**Bean Burritos and getting stuck in Elevators never end well (no seriously, it really doesn't)**

There is nothing worse than accidentally forgetting your wallet at home.

Especially when you're in your local super market check-out line on a Saturday afternoon with 189 dollars and 14 cents in just Kit-Kat's and Laffy Taffy's and one fucking puny Jell-O cup.

(Just for the record, I could never see the hype with Jell-O. One minute it's a solid, the next it's a liquid – Jell-O is more confused about its identity than I ever could be. And I don't like the fact that I can both chew and slurp this "treat". Also, is it a **desert** or a **trick **made by the government to find creative ways to slip un-suspecting children fruits and veggies in manipulated liquid/solids that only fucking has two colors and jiggles more than a twerker's butt-check? Can you answer that question for me? Huh? Huh? Because the four year Santana is still traumatized and screaming "Whyyyyyyyy?! Why couldn't I have gotten the pudding?!")

Anyways this, my friends, is where I shall start my story. Not because I forgot my wallet at home, but because Puck forgot _his _wallet at home and is now 189 and 14 cents in my debt.

So here's what been up: it's been a month since I got my cast off and everything has slipped back to normal – meaning Puck is still a fucking dick and I still might stalk Brittany on the internet. And just like before, no one can prove that I could be following her to her various social outings like football games, cheerleading competitions, dentist appointments – _you know_, the regular.

The only thing that has changed is that I now have a scar on my arm in the shape of Momo from_ The Avatar: The Last Air Bender_.

Moving on to the real situation at hand: Puck is a fucking idiot who now owes me 189 dollars and 14 cents because he felt like being a dick and buying the rest of the packs of Kit-Kats and Laffy Taffy's from the store because a little kid cried on his vans. No, seriously, a little kid was having a temper-tantrum because his mother wouldn't let him get a Kit-Kat so Puck bought _ALL_ of the Kit-Kats when he originally came to the store to buy a fuck ass Jell-O cup.

And how did poor-old-me get dragged into this situation? I honestly don't even know anymore. In the heat of my bitter, angry rage – I forgot how I came to be.

But to make a long story short and over-simplified: Puck now owes me lunch for the next 3 weeks.

And all I want is a black bean burrito filled with rice, cheese, and jalapeno peppers. And what Mama wants is want Mama gets.

I didn't remember, however, that I had to go into school today to help Sue Sylvester move fertilized duck eggs and plant them in some Spanish teacher's (who shall remain nameless) office so they can imprint on him and never leave his side. Which is a really weird and elaborate plan that I am not able to discuss with anyone because I have the right to remain silent, and anything I say can and will be used against me in a court of law; therefore, I have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning.

So four bites away from finishing my beautiful black bean burrito, I made Puck drive me to McKinley where it seems my life always finds a way to make me miserable.

Que Quinn Fabray walking into the elevator with me.

Do you have someone who you always really wanted to be friends with, so you went out of your way to make that happen? But somewhere down the first few weeks of your friendship, you realized that, that person was super weird/crazy/not for you, but it was too late to back out of the friendship now that you started it?

This is why I cannot talk to Quinn Fabray.

She was a really cool girl once. Someone with humor, a need for speedy lunch room lines, and a love for bacon that would make Porky Pig think twice, folks. But sadly, she also has obsessions with things I just couldn't jump on and a vibe that makes me feel in danger of my life most of the time.

So of course when I see her, I'm thankful that I had a go-to musical influence.

**Kanye West helps relieve my Kanye Stress**

QUINN: Santana!

SANTANA: Quinn!

QUINN: Long time no see! I feel like I haven't seen you in forever!

SANTANA: I've been catching up on my Kanye Rest.

QUINN: Wait, what?

SANTANA: Because I've been on my Kanye Quest.

QUINN: Wait, Santan-

SANTANA: - Because I had to leave my Kanye Nest.

QUINN: I don't understa-

SANTANA: So that I could become my Kanye Best.

QUINN:

SANTANA: My life became a Kanye Mess.

SANTANA: And my mind was a Kanye Pest.

QUINN: Please, Santana -

SANTANA: But I just buttoned up my Kanye Vest.

SANTANA: And got myself Kanye Dressed.

QUINN: Please stop.

SANTANA :.

SANTANA:

QUINN:

SANTANA:

QUINN:

SANTANA: So I wouldn't hang like Kanye Breast.

Que Quinn leaving the elevator three floors before the floor she pressed.

By the time I reach the Sue Sylvester's floor, I am calm and cool and at the peak of my Kanye Fest. The best thing about my everything I say is that it is exactly what is on my mind at the time. I learned from Sue that anything held inside your mind will one day be stolen by the CIA anyway – so you might as well share it.

And after I finish the job that I am not liable to explain the details of – I was actually happier than I was in forever.

So when I got back into the elevator, I didn't think anything could possibly happen that would make me want to kill myself.

Oh, but things are never as they seem.

** Elevators are not Santana's stomach's friend**

Que Artie Abrams walking into the elevator. his prosthetic leg only barely noticeable.

SANTANA:

ARTIE:

SANTANA:

Que my stomach bubbling.

ARTIE:

SANTANA:

ARTIE:

ELEVATOR VOICE: Floor three.

Que Mike Chang getting on the elevator.

ELEVATOR VOICE: Going down.

MIKE (to Artie): Hey Man.

ARTIE (to Mike): Wassup.

Que my stomach say "wja sdjk fasjd kajfn"

SANTANA:

MIKE:

ARTIE:

ELEVATOR VOICE: Floor two.

Que Mike Chang getting off the elevator.

ELEVATOR VOICE: Going down.

SANTANA:

ARTIE:

SANTANA:

ARTIE:

Que Elevator actually turning _off_ mid-flight.

ARTIE: What the –

SANTANA: Seriously!?

Que Elevator's back up lights from generator coming on.

Que Elevator telling us to say calm.

Que my stomach talking back.

SANTANA:

ARTIE:

SANTANA:

ARTIE:

Que my silent fart….

ARTIE:

SANTANA:

ARTIE:

SANTANA:

ARTIE: *while sniffing* You've got to be fucking kidding me!

SANTANA:

ARTIE:

SANTANA:

ARTIE:

SANTANA: Well… Bright side is… At least your prosthetic leg is only barely noticeable.

And I swear, in that moment, I died of being stupid.


End file.
